


Agonize

by nyagosstar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyagosstar/pseuds/nyagosstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody knows breaking a chain letter is bad luck.  Or, at least they should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Agonize

**Author's Note:**

> Ages and ages ago, halfacork had a challenge posted on her lj about chain letters. I thought it was cool, started something and then abandoned it. I picked it up much later and this is the result. It's not terrible for a first outing with the characters, but it's not amazing either. Mostly, I just like it for the ending.
> 
> Originally written in early 2007

He burned with a raw and unending fire. His own body was a traitor, increasing the heat of the fever until he thought his blood might boil out of his veins. It was worse than the transformations, worse than the pain of his wounds the next morning. The fever was worse even than the horrible treatments his parents had inflicted on him after he’d first been bitten and the liquid poison had flowed through his veins. 

It was Padfoot’s fault of course. Padfoot and that damn letter. He’d told him to throw it away, not to copy it and send it on. Every one knew chain letters were, at best a waste of time, and at worst dangerous. But Padfoot never listened to anyone, especially not Remus so he’d copied the letter and sent them, one each to James, Peter and Remus. 

Only somehow, Remus’ copy had been waylaid. And the stupid spell didn’t care about when the letter was received, only when it’d been sent. So he’d missed the deadline even if he’d wanted to make copies of his own. Remus had thrown the stupid thing in the stupid trash and sent a scathing letter to Padfoot. He hoped he was having a terrible time with James this summer, that they were both miserable in the knowledge that no one would ever love them, they were pants at magic and likely to be crushed by something awful, heavy and muggle.

That night, he’d started sniffling. By the morning, he could do little more than huddle in his bed and feel miserable. Had he been able, he would have written another letter to Padfoot, but just the energy required to keep his eyes open was too much. He wanted them to know his misery, but he didn’t have the strength. If he survived, he would think of something fitting for when they got back to school.

By noon, the fever started and he had a hard time telling the difference between what was real and what wasn’t. He was pretty sure his mother hadn’t taken to wearing strange animal costumes, but he could never really be sure. He thought he remembered the giant rabbit shaped figure masquerading as his father telling him he had a letter from his friends James and Sirius, but the next time he woke, he couldn’t find any evidence of the letter.

Snatches of conversation whispered to him in his pain.

“Do you think we should take him to St. Mungo’s?”

“It’s just a fever. He’s a strong boy.”

“He doesn’t even recognize us.”

For a while, he thought Padfoot was at his side, stroking his head and murmuring apologies but he was never there when Remus woke.

“You need to drink some water, dear, you haven’t had anything in day.”

Water was like acid, blankets were fire. His own body was trying to kill itself, he was sure. How could anyone be this hot, this miserable and not be dead. What if, when he got better, something was wrong with his mind? He didn’t have much, but he had that, and a fever like this couldn’t be good. What if he never got better? What if he was like this forever?

His father, this time wearing the face of a dementor, came into the room and poured something foul down his throat. It seemed like his father was trying to kill him and Remus knew he fought, but the vile concoction did something to him and he fell away into sleep.  
When he woke again, everything was slightly less awful. He was still hot, but he didn’t feel on fire. His body ached, but he could move. The room wasn’t spinning and he didn’t think he was going to start puking again.

He was, however, still hallucinating, because Padfoot was sitting next to his bed, reading a Quidditch magazine. “Hey,” delusion-Padfoot said when Remus tried to sit up. “Are you really awake this time?”

Remus stared at him for a moment. “If I tell you yes, will you go away?”

Delusion-Padfoot dropped the magazine to the floor. “If you’re going to start yelling at me again, I’ll have James come in and sit with you. Look, I’m sorry about the stupid letter. I’m sorry the stupid owl didn’t get it to you in time. I’m sorry you’re sick. If you would just stop blaming me—“

“Could you stop shouting? I didn’t think delusions could be so loud. Maybe I’m insane.” It didn’t feel as bad as he thought it would have. He just sort of felt tired and stuffy.

“What are you on about? I’m not a delusion.”

“That’s what they all say.”

Padfoot reached out and grabbed his arm, his hands felt blessedly cool against Remus’ skin. “I’m real.”

“Oh.” Remus closed his eyes in a long, slow blink and when he opened them again, Padfoot was still there. “Why are you here?”

Sirius shrugged uncomfortably, but didn’t remove his hand. “I was worried. When you didn’t respond to my owls, I thought you were still mad about the letter, but then your mom sent one saying you were sick. James and I came straight away.” He frowned, looking like nothing so much as a sad puppy. “I’m really sorry about the letter.” Padfoot’s hand moved from his arm to his shoulder and down again in soft, soothing strokes. No one had touched him like that in years, not since before the attack. His mother still worried for him and looked after him, but she wasn’t much on touch anymore.

“It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right. Look at you! You could have died.”

“Stop being so melodramatic.” Padfoot’s hand moved to brush hair away from Remus' eyes and Remus couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the touch. “If this is the worst that happens, it’s not so bad. You can make it up to me, okay?” Starting with keeping his hands doing exactly what they were doing.

Padfoot muttered something under his breath, something that sounded like bad luck and fifteen years and sorry, but Remus was tired and sore and Padfoot’s hand was so gentle against his head that he couldn’t help but sleep.


End file.
